I’m sitting here in my kitchen with the light from the microwave being the only thing on because I’m trying to save on the electric bill. Just finished a batch of data entry for this crappy startup that probably won’t pay me until next month. My son called today. He’s officially divorced. It took fourteen months and all the money he didn’t have, and now he’s moving into a studio apartment that smells like old gym socks. He sounded so small on the phone. Like he was ten again and just fell off his bike and realized his knees were actually bleeding. reasons my son probably sucks at being a husband: 1. he thinks yelling is just how you say good morning 2. he thinks if you don't slam a door, you didn't actually have a conversation 3. he learned that "I’m sorry" is just a magic spell you say to make the other person stop crying so you can watch TV in peace 4. he watched me stay with his father for twenty years because I was terrified of being poor—and look at me now, I’m 62 and still freaking out over a $40 grocery bill. HA. I keep thinking about that one summer—I think he was eight—when I threw a ceramic plate at the wall because his father forgot to pick up my prescription for the third time. It didn’t hit anyone, but the sound it made... it was like something vital just snapped in the air. My son just stood there in his pajamas holding his juice box, looking at the shards. I didn't even hug him. I didn’t even say it was okay. I just told him to go to his room so I could sweep up the mess before I tripped on it. GREAT parenting, right? Give that woman a trophy. Preferably a ceramic one so I can throw that too. Now he tells me his ex-wife said he’s "impossible" and that he shuts down the second things get a little bit loud. I wonder where he got that from? Certainly not the house where his mother and father treated every Tuesday like a heavyweight title fight. I tried to tell him it’ll get better, but I’m currently "freelancing" my way into an early grave with no health insurance and a car that makes a clicking noise every time I turn left. I’m the last person who should be giving life advice. I’m basically a "DO NOT ENTER" sign in human form. He asked me today if I was happy when he was a kid. I lied. I said "of course, honey, we had some good times." I didn't want to tell him that most days back then I felt like a trapped animal chewing its own leg off just to get out of the house. And now he’s out of his own house, but he looks just as mangled as I do. I’ve got another gig starting at 6am—more grocery delivery bullshit—so I should sleep. But I just keep looking at the cracks in the ceiling and wondering if I ruined his chances before he even met that girl. I was his blueprint. And the house he built from it just collapsed on his head. I really hope he doesn't call me tomorrow. I don't have any more lies left in me tonight and the truth is way too expensive. Just like everything else these days.